Gingerbread House
by warmwinternights
Summary: Ivan and Alfred live a comfortable life in a пряничный домик, a gingerbread house. It seems sweet, but homes like this crumble at the slightest touch. RusAme Domestic AU (TW for: violence, abuse, mental illness)


As soon as he hears the door close, Ivan tosses the towel onto the counter and hurries out of the kitchen. It takes a little squeezing through the door, because it's kind of a tiny rowhouse, but that's okay. That just means they're closer together.

"Fredka! _Medvezhonok_ , my teddy bear! I am so glad to see you!" he says as he envelopes Alfred in a hug. His accent slurs the words together a little, but Alfred understands - they've been together for six months. It's a part of the guy's charm.

Lou at the station says Russian accents are what cancer would sound like if it could make noise, but who knows, maybe fags like him just have weird taste. Alfred always laughs awkwardly at that and fights the urge to taze him before his lunch break ends.

"How was work?" Ivan asks, holding onto his shoulders while pulling out of the hug. He smiles, like he almost always does when his boyfriend gets home from the police station.

Alfred shrugs, moving out from under Ivan's hands to tug off his jacket and hang it in the closet. "Eh. Same old, same old, you know?"

Ivan thinks about the sentence for a moment, trying to translate the words and make sense of them, but it doesn't work. _Одинаковый_ _старый_ _?..._ Oh well. Maybe it's some American colloquialism? (He learned that word when he was scouring the internet for help on dissecting Alfred's ridiculous library of American slang.)

Ivan just nods and smiles instead. "Yes, I know!" God, that's probably not the right way to respond, but he's only been here for 1½ years! Even then, he lived in the Russian neighborhood in Philly. He would have liked to continue living there, but he wasn't really welcome anymore for…obvious reasons.

Well, his English reading wasn't so bad. English isn't too difficult, until you actually start having to talk to people…so many funny expressions!

Alfred gives him a funny look. Oh no, he really did mess up…but now his boyfriend is shaking his head and smiling a little. Ivan feels better. He loves seeing Alfred smile, so he's lucky his teddy bear does it so often.

Alfred hangs up his coat in the closet and slides the doors shut. He's about to step towards the kitchen when he looks as if he just remembered something. "Ah-ah-ah!" he chides himself, bending down to peel off his shoes and toss them next to the door, then looking up at Ivan to see his reaction.

He beams. "Oh, you remembered! Thank you, darling!"

Alfred stands back up and pecks him on the cheek. "Of course I did. What've you been up to today?"

"Right, I forgot to tell you!" Ivan perks up. He had a pretty good day, all things considered. "I took the bus to NetCost, and they had the _zefir_ today! I know you very much like them…there was some _ptichye moloko_ , too, and you know how I love…um…the sweet?..."

"Sweets? Sweet things?" Alfred suggests.

"Yes! Sweet things. But we already have _zefir_ , um…at that time, and I…think to me, 'That is enough sugar, and there will be _rozhdectva_ soon and I am making _priyanik_ for it, so I don't buy them now'."

Alfred looks confused as he sits down at the kitchen table, and Ivan busies himself at the stove. "Sorry, what's roshdecka? I forget."

"Um, _rozhdectva_. It is the born time of Jesus, yes? And I'm going to make _pryanik_ for it…gingerbread."

"Oh! Christmas. Right, it's our first Christmas together," Alfred grins. Ivan smiles back.

There's a small silence before Alfred speaks up again. "Yo, isn't Russian Christmas different from everyone else's?"

"Ah – yes, it is different!" Ivan replies enthusiastically, excited that Alfred wants to know more about his culture. "The orthodox church has Christmas on January 7. But it is not so important, New Year is more. The Bolsheviks…they stop Christmas, so the families celebrate the same things, but on the day of the New Year. That way they say, it is not religion, it is just holiday. But people like Christmas more now, the Bolsheviks are gone, and we have religion again! We go to church service on…the night before."

"Mmm…" Alfred hums in response. Ivan is a little hurt that he isn't paying more attention. Those were difficult sentences!

"I am also doing well on my English class!" he mentions as he carries their plates to the table, a half a fish fillet on each. They've not had a whole lot of money recently, so he had to skip out on the garnish – and Ivan really prides himself on presentation – but he's saving the steamed vegetables for a soup tomorrow. He forget to get beets for borsch today…he'll have to go back.

"Oh yeah?" Alfred replies, picking up his fork and knife and tucking into his dinner.

"Yes! I use that free site, it works very well! Do you notice...um, me get better?"

Alfred smirks at that. "Yeah, sure. Do you, like…need my help with anything?"

"I talk to you a lot, so I take many of your colloloqui…colcolquillizimz. I could try to shop at English supermarket but I am scared that I choose the wrong foods."

"Colloquilisms? _I_ don't even know what that means," Alfred chuckles.

"Colloquialisms are…it is when you say many words…um, you say a sentence, yes? And words, the words do not mean something, but the sentence means something. Together."

"…Like a metaphor?" Alfred tries to understand the idea behind Ivan's broken English. "Oh! Like an expression, where it doesn't make sense in any language besides English. So, like, when I say, 'It's raining cats and dogs', but I don't mean there's actually pets falling from the sky, that's a colloquialism?"

"Yes, I think so," Ivan replies, satisfied. It's always very frustrating when he can't communicate his ideas because of his bad English. He was one of the smartest kids in his classes back in Russia, and yet here everyone treats him like a dumb baby because he can't conjugate the stupid past tense off the top of his head. Maybe he should be having an easier time since he was so good at French in senior school and college, but…that was really easier said than done.

"So your English is going good, then?" Alfred asks, shoveling a hunk of fish into his mouth.

"Reading is not so bad, but it is very difficult to talk to people! My brain does not think that fast!" Ivan laughs, taking another bite of his meal. Alfred nods.

"I totally get that. I was like, not having it with French grammar in middle school. S'why I switched over to Spanish. And now I actually know a decent amount, too, so people don't think I'm some dumb American…" He's already finished his dinner, and he pushes out his chair to put the empty plate in the sink.

"So, do you want to study Russian?" Ivan prompts, trying to catch him in a conversation just a little longer. He wishes he wouldn't leave so soon. It's like Alfred always has something better to do than just sit and relax for a little while.

"Aaahhh…" Alfred draws out his response, bringing his hand up to scratch the back of his neck. "Y'know, I'd really like to, don't get me wrong, but it's just…kinda hard, you know? And I've got this job goin', I don't have as much free time as you do…"

Oh. Well that stung a little. Ivan laughs anyway, trying not to let it show. "Oh, of course. I can help you learn, but if you do not want to learn it, then I cannot make you to."

"Yeah. Sorry. Glad you understand, though," Alfred says, leaning in to peck his boyfriend on the cheek. Silently, Ivan is thankful that it was only the cheek, because Alfred's mouth probably tastes strongly of fish and he's not sure he would be able to stomach that.

Alfred turns to leave the kitchen and heads up the stairs before Ivan can think of anything else to keep him down here. _Well, if he doesn't stay and spend time with me, then he must not want to in the first place,_ Ivan reasons with himself as he finishes his dinner and gets up to wash the dishes in the sink. He thinks as he scrubs at the pans and cutlery, listening to the water running through the pipes above him while Alfred takes his shower.

Does Alfred really not care about learning Russian? Yes, he's busy and he's providing for the both of them, but Ivan really is busy too. Even if he's just a homemaker. And he's been doing odd jobs on the side, too, mostly online work, and when he's not doing that he's studying or running errands or cleaning their house, however small it is. Alfred could at least practice a little on the weekends. All it really takes is 15 minutes a day.

 _Maybe he doesn't realize how much it means to me,_ Ivan wonders as he dries a plate. Then again, Alfred just never seemed to take much interest in Ivan's culture at all. It doesn't necessarily mean he doesn't care.

That thought almost makes Ivan laugh. Of course he doesn't care. He can't possibly care that much about him. It's not even the refusal to learn Russian, or never learning to pronounce _Rozhdectva_ right. It's simply that Ivan will be left alone eventually, like always. Alfred could kiss him and tell him "I love you" all he wanted, but that won't change the fact that Ivan is unlovable. There's no way Alfred can possibly stay in love with someone who's as horrible as Ivan is. What bothers Ivan most is that he'd let himself get lulled into such a false sense of security.

God, such a horrible person…

He finishes putting the dishes away in the cupboard, but the water upstairs is still running. Hadn't he told Alfred they needed to save water?

Whatever. He'd just take a really short shower to compensate. Alfred deserves to relax after he's been hard at work all day.

Ivan squeezes through the doorway back into the hall and walks into the living room. Should he read, or practice piano? He'd been wanting to work on that Shostakovich piece…

Oh, but the neighbors would complain about the noise. So he should just read.

Ivan walks to the bookshelf; he'd finished his new Russian novel that he'd ordered off of Amazon yesterday. He tore through those books twice as fast as it took them to arrive at their house, which wouldn't be a problem if there was a library somewhere that carried Russian literature. But buying so many books got very expensive very fast, and Ivan was painfully aware of that. So he limits himself to two a month, and since he has good taste anyway, those two books every month plus his collection that he'd brought over with him from Russia means he just rereads a lot of his favorite stories.

Just as he has his finger on the spine of _Zaveect'_ , he questions his judgment. He could always use more English practice. And Alfred had even gotten him a chapter book, _Amelia Bedelia_ , about that silly maid who could never do her chores right. _Amelia Bedelia_ was _full_ of colloquialisms. He could even try and get through one of Alfred's books, if he wanted. _The Martian_ looked interesting, from what Alfred had explained of it to him. Even if it was full of technical jargon and high-level vocabulary, it could only help his English, right?...

Ivan gives in. No, he's too tired. He doesn't want to struggle through another book where he has to look up every other word and reread every page two or three times just to understand them. He just wants to relax and laugh at a funny story from a place where he doesn't feel like a stranger. Where people know what _ptichye moloko_ and _pryanik_ are, and don't mispronounce his name with that awful hard "eye" noise that he hates. Ivan grabs _Zaveect'_ from the shelf in defiance and remembers at the last second not to plop down on the couch, because he's "big-boned" (as so many people here have said with their eyebrows tilted upwards and sympathetic smiles plastered on their faces). He sits down very gently instead, opening up his book to the first page. Just reading the first sentence makes a smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

 _Он поет по утром в клозете. Можете представить себе, какой это жизнерадостный, здоровый человек…_

Ivan has been reading for God knows how long when his ears perk up at the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. He lets his book fall shut on his finger, holding his place at page 32.

"Good evening, _Fredka_! Why are you downstairs?" he asks, not unkindly.

Alfred walks over to his boyfriend, leaning down to push back Ivan's bangs and plant a kiss on his forehead. Alfred smells like mint and sugar cubes, from the body wash he uses. Ivan takes in a deep breath through his nose and can feel his muscles relax as the comforting scent floods his body.

"You hadn't come upstairs yet, so I thought I'd come down to meet you instead," Alfred replies, smiling that smile that always makes Ivan feel like he's going to melt. Alfred sits down next to him on the couch, tucking his legs underneath himself and resting his head on Ivan's shoulder. "Whatcha reading, big guy?"

 _Big guy?_ "I'm…the book is called _Zaveect'_ , but I don't know the English word for it…"

Alfred hums an _ah_ in response.

"And, um, _medvezhonok_? Why…do you say 'big guy'? What does that mean?"

Alfred looks at him with an expression of surprise. "'Big guy'? I…" He thinks about it for a moment, watching Ivan's wrinkled brow. "Oh! Oh, it's not a comment on your weight or anything…but, y'know, just for the record, I think you're really handsome the way you are," he smiles, tracing his finger along Ivan's collarbone.

"Ah. Okay," Ivan ends the conversation, not totally convinced. His thoughts from earlier, while he was doing the dishes, come back to taunt him.

 _He doesn't love you…if you think about it, it's actually impossible._

 _Shouldn't you check? Unless you make him worry about you._

 _That would be being a burden…don't make him worry. But if he doesn't care, then wouldn't he not worry?_

 _So he does care. So don't make him worry._

 _Shouldn't you check?..._

"Alfred?"

Alfred stirs on Ivan's shoulder. "Yeah, sweetheart?"

"Do you love me?"

Alfred sighs. Ivan worries he's tiring him out. "Of course, honey. Of course. I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true."

Ivan's mouth flattens into a quiet scowl.

 _You're making him tired. He's had a long day._

 _Leave him alone._

 _Why do you care if he cares? Do you care? He doesn't care._

 _He'll be better off when he leaves you anyway, so why are you sad? It's because you're a bad person, isn't it? Stop making him care about a bad person. Don't make him feel bad._

 _Don't ask again. Don't question him._

"I do not believe you." Uh-oh. Did that come out flatter than he'd meant it? What's Alfred going to think?

He can't think Ivan doesn't care! Alfred will get sad!

Does Alfred care what Ivan thinks?

" _Ivan._ Please. Will you look at me?"

Ivan looks at him.

"In the eyes."

He meets his eyes.

"I love you, okay? Can you tell me what I just told you?" he says, hands placed gently on the sides of Ivan's neck, thumbs rubbing lazy circles into his jaw.

"…You love me?" Ivan tries. Will that make Alfred happy? Can Ivan make Alfred happy? Maybe Ivan is making Alfred sad.

" _Yes_. A thousand times to the moon and back."

 _He thinks he convinced you. Don't make him worry again._

 _Don't do it aga -_

"But I make you sad."

Alfred's eyes were bright and hopeful before, but with one sentence Ivan's made them look so tragic, and desolate, and God, it's all _his_ fault.

"I worry about you because I care about you."

"But you should not…have…to worry about me. That is bad, when you worry." _He should leave._

 _Oh God, what if he leaves?_

 _He can't leave. Don't let him leave._

 _Don't make him sad._

"Ivan. That's part of loving each other. I worry about you, and you worry about me. That's what happens when people care about each other."

"But I do something wrong. Because I make you sad."

"If I didn't care about you, how would that make you feel? Tell me the truth."

Ivan hesitates.

 _Tell him the truth._

 _Do_ not _tell him the truth._

 _Tell him part of the truth. Make him stop worrying._

"If that happens, I am happy because you are happy, because you do not care about me, because you do not worry about me - "

Alfred's eyebrows knit together.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no.

He's mad.

"Look - what am I supposed to do? To help you. Tell me," he says. Ivan couldn't ignore the aggravation in his tone if he tried. It makes him wince.

"I - I'm sorry, I'm sorry, _medvezhonok._ I should not ask the question. I know you love me."

"Ivan, you're obviously lying. You can't build a relationship on that."

"No, it's fine. I am fine, Fredka," he insists, trying to avoid what's coming.

 _You're going to lose him!_

 _Don't let him go!_

"Quit it with the pet names, will you? Should I bring you to a therapist? Would that help you?"

"I…" He groans in frustration. "I don't know what that is."

"What, a therapist? It's a doctor, but for people who need mental help."

"Mental?..." God, he's so dumb. He should have read the English book instead of stupid _Zaveect'._

"Mental, you know? Like with your brain. For people who are a little _cuckoo!_ up here, yeah? Is that what you need?" Alfred twirls his finger in a little circle next to his forehead, eyes flashing.

Oh. He's-

He's calling him _crazy?_

"NO! No, I'm not - I'm not like those people! I'm not crazy! Alfred, you scare me, don't say that!" He panics. Anything but _those_ people. He must mean a mental asylum, right? Where the crazy people get locked away. Oh God, no, Ivan can't do that. He can't go there. Any place but that.

"Uh-huh, OK, then why do you pull stuff like this, huh? Why are you doubting me?" Alfred pushes, getting up in Ivan's face.

 _He's calling me crazy._ How can he have the nerve to call him crazy?

What if he's right?

Ivan knows he's right. He knows he's crazy. He knows he's damaged. And unfixable. And unlovable. And a very, very bad person.

 _He called me crazy._

"I only try to check! To know that you love me! Everybody does it!" Ivan insists, the tears in his eyes drying up. His voice grows rough, like sandpaper. His fists feel heavy and hot, filled with molten lead. It would be hard to play the piano with hands like that.

"No, Ivan, that's not normal! It gets fucking annoying, you know?"

"Alfred, I am _fine_. Please forget about it."

"It's my relationship too! Don't you get how distressing it is for me to come home and, and to hear you say you'd be happy if you left me? I want to know that I'm loved too! And then, like, you pull shit like this, and it's _tiring_!"

"I know, I know, I know - " He wants to put his hands over his ears, block everything out.

"Know _what_? You were just telling me you don't know anything! Can you stop lying? Just tell me what's going on!"

"Are you…go to leave me?"

"Wh - what does that even mean, Ivan?" Alfred asks desperately. His hands drop to his sides on the couch.

"You…" He can't remember the grammatical structure. "Going. Are you going to leave me?"

"Ivan…I don't know. Are you going to keep questioning whether I love you or not? I want this to be a healthy relationship, but you're making that really hard, yeah?"

"…You're leaving me." He'd understood "I don't know", and been a little too freaked out to listen to too much after that.

"I don't _know_ , Ivan! I don't want to, but can you promise that you'll stop doubting me?"

"DON'T LEAVE!" he yells, grabbing Alfred's arms. He forgets, sometimes, how small Alfred is compared to him. Or at least he feels very small and delicate. Like china, or his sisters' matryoshka dolls.

Alfred reacts immediately, jerking his upper body around desperately, but Ivan's hands only squeeze tighter. For the first time in this conversation, Ivan spots fear in his eyes.

"OI! LET GO!" Alfred yells. Ivan does nothing, just tries to keep him closer. He can't run away. He can't leave him yet.

"IVAN! What the fuck, can you even hear me? LET! GO!"

 _He can't leave he can't leave he can't leave he can't leave -_

Suddenly there's a crack, and Ivan's jaw hurts really bad, and he lets go. His hands fly to his face instead.

Another hit, probably for good measure. Alfred's knuckles dig into his face like rocks when they make contact. He's good at this; they had special training in hand-on-hand combat at the police academy.

He feels his throat constricting from tears, but also because his scarf is being pulled tighter and tighter around his neck, like his hands around Alfred's arms a few seconds ago. He can see Alfred gripping the fabric like it's a matter of life and death through his disorderly bangs. His _medvezhonok_ is yelling, but he can't understand.

He's so scared, and his thoughts are tangled into knots…

Ivan is pushed onto the cold, wooden floor. Out of nowhere there's a stab in his ribs, and he infers that Alfred has kicked him. As the initial shock subsides, and pain begins to roll over him in waves, sound starts to weave its way through his ears again.

"…cause I'm smaller doesn't mean I'm not stronger than you are. You can sleep on the goddamn couch tonight if you're gonna try and kill me, I'm going to bed."

The footsteps make the floor vibrate. It rattles Ivan's skull, and he squeezes his eyes shut as his headache worsens.

"…Please do not leave." That's all he manages to say, but it makes the footsteps falter, hesitant.

"I tell you…many times…" he continues. "People always leave. I do not know why. But I am always alone, at the end. Do not leave me like them, Alfred…medvezhonok…t - " His breath hitches. "Teddy bear…"

Alfred seems to shift, but Ivan doesn't know for sure. He hasn't moved from where he fell. His eyes are still lidded, drowsy and calm as they watch the ceiling.

"You are different from them…I know…I want to trust you. To be sure you will not leave. I want that…is it my fault, to want that? Am I bad because I want that?"

"Ivan…just…"

"I know you love me. But my life before now has been bad…you know that. I need to be sure that it does not happen another time."

"…I know you've been mistreated. You've told me about it."

"Do not leave me. Please."

Alfred is silent.

"Please…a promise, all I want is a promise…"

A sigh. "I promise. But I'm going upstairs now." He turns and walks up the stairs.

"I love you…" Ivan sings to him as a goodbye. He hears no reply. The words echo through their house.

Eventually, maybe minutes, maybe hours later, Ivan rolls over. He rests his head in his arms, using them as a pillow. His eyes land on the wall, and he starts to think about its color. It's a sort of golden-brown, like the _pryanik,_ the gingerbread he loves.

When he was little, Katyusha had read him some of those Brothers Grimm fairytales. He remembers in one story, how Hansel and Gretel had wandered through the forest for days, before stumbling on a _pryanichney domik_. A gingerbread house. It had looked so sugary-sweet from the outside, a godsend to the starving children. A friendly old woman greeted them as they picked candies off her house and popped them into their hungry mouths.

When they went inside, it still seemed fine. It was still made of gingerbread, and they still ate pieces of the house, delicious sweets, one by one. A few things were off, but not enough to cause worry.

And then one day, the old woman turned out to be not so nice at all. She tried to hurt them, tried to shove them into the oven, and they ran away from the delicious gingerbread house.

But as Ivan reflects, he notes something important. When the children realized the witch would only cause them harm, they ran away. They never returned. They never listened to the witch as she lay on the floor, pleading for sympathy as she talked about her past. They shoved her into her own oven and left her to burn.

It looked so sugary-sweet from the outside…

If only Alfred weren't trapped with a witch like him.

* * *

Translation Notes:

 _medvezhonok_ = медвежонок = pet name, literally "teddy bear"

 _zefir_ = зефир = a Russian pastry, almost like a marshmallow cookie

 _ptichye moloko_ = птичье молоко = a cake with a soufflé-like marshmallow layer, and chocolate glaze on top; literally "bird's milk"

 _priyanik_ = пряник = Russian gingerbread

 _r_ _ozhdectva_ = рождество = Christmas

 _Zaveect'_ = Зависть = _Envy_ , a comedy by Yuri Olesha about a Soviet man working in the food industry

* * *

 **This may or may not become a twoshot...I guess that depends on demand :0 Either way, this is the last story I'll be able to get out before I leave on vacation for two weeks. I won't get to write during that time, and school starts in a month, so we'll see how my schedule changes...I've been getting back into writing lately though, and I really do want to get more stories out. So stick around for those :)**

 ** _Please review!_ It makes my day, and I'm very interested to see what people think of this. Let me know what you thought!**


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